


Downpour

by AltarfSomnium



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Extended Scene, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, High Impact Hand Holding, Little Nightmares II Spoilers, One Shot, POV Second Person, Self-Esteem Issues, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29858109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltarfSomnium/pseuds/AltarfSomnium
Summary: "Bending down to slowly slip the coat over her jumper, she emerges, a bright yellow butterfly in the pale moonlight. In that moment, you’re stunned beyond words. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. You’re transfixed."Even in a world that wants you dead, (or worse) there's still moments of respite to cherish.
Relationships: Mono & Six (Little Nightmares), implied Mono/Six
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70





	Downpour

**Author's Note:**

> A short retelling of a scene from LN2 that stuck with me. Trying to get back into writing; not familiar with posting on AO3.

With a final leap out of the cramped vent, you follow Six into the dumpster below, landing with a noticeable thud. It’s disgusting, some panicked part of you notes. You’ve done your fair share of skulking around in the dark and dirty muck even before you met her, and although you’ve become mostly used to it, (better than the alternative, at least) it still turns your nose.

Quickly raising her head, your companion seems to have taken the fall better than you. Your eyes meet through bangs and paper. Used to this kind of thing? There’s a lot you don’t know about her, but at least you share the paralysing fear that courses through your bodies as you wait for the Teacher to follow. Running’s a waste of time; she’ll catch you in those wooden jaws before you make it ten feet. No, better to hide and hope she loses interest. Your calloused hand meets one covered in grime, and you huddle together, her unkempt hair pressing into your coat.

You don’t move as the clicking and cracking follows you out of the vent. A long, thin shadow is cast above you, and your heart seems to stop. _No._ Not now, not when you’ve worked so hard. You squeeze her hand tightly, and close your eyes; you don’t open them even when you hear the creaking of artificial joints pass ever-closer overhead.

A pause. _(she squeezes back, letting out a barely perceptible whimper)_

Finally, with an almost disappointed hiss emerging from above _(you can’t tell how far away - the noise seems to echo off the drab grey walls)_ you hear the horrid groaning of tired wood retreat, back into the newly resized shaft. You wait a few moments, then let out a breath of relief you didn’t even know you were holding. _Finally!_ You open your eyes, only to be met with Six staring back at you, her expression unreadable. You smile, timidly, under your sweat-stained mask and release her hand. With one last look up at that warped vent above you (trying not to think about what caused those deformities) you place one hand onto the cold metal, and hoist yourself out of the dumpster, landing on your hands and knees on the pavement. Six soon follows.

That was close. Far too close. You’re grateful you didn’t have to stay in that imitation of a school for much longer; your memories are confusing and muddled, familiar yet foreign, and you don’t like to dwell on them for too long. The school in particular dredged up _very_ unpleasant visions, half of which flat-out don’t make sense, the other half full of isolated tangents of memory. The squeaking of chalk, the _loud_ clatter of high heels against floorboards, sitting in a desk, head down, desperately trying to avoid eye contact - are these memories yours, or just absorbed from the twitching shadows you find huddled in corners? Who can say? All you know is that they felt real enough to have you on your best behaviour as you wandered the halls.

Your single-minded rescue mission was all that carried you through it, otherwise you might have just followed your urges and curled up in a corner somewhere. You shudder. Best not to think about it, even though the sound of wood and metal bending and breaking behind you, those teeth clicking and snapping as you’re hurriedly crawling through that vent isn’t likely to leave you any time soon.

Ready to continue, you turn to face Six, who seems to now be mirroring your relieved expression. Is she hurt? In shock? You’re ashamed for being so easily caught in that trap ( _she’s probably furious with you, better apologise)_ , and you hope those crooked _things_ in the shape of children didn’t do anything to her beyond dangling her from the ceiling. You’re about to ask her just that when she shoots you the faintest hint of a smile and reaches for your hand – you pause, shocked, then take it. Huh? You worried she’d be slapping you in the face, or shoving you and running away, like the last time. _(eager to ditch the dead weight slowing her down)_ As if reading your mind, she squeezes your hand reassuringly and motions gently with her head away from that awful place. That’s enough to put those unpleasant thoughts away for now, and you awkwardly nod before walking off down the broken street, Six in tow.

“m’ sorry.” You mumble, shame burning hot on your cheeks, a few moments later. “I was dumb, and I ran in without thinking, and I let them take you, and-and-“

You trail off, tongue-tied as she turns to look at you. She doesn’t speak much, (or mostly at all, come to think of it, besides the odd exception and the reciprocal “Hey!” when you call to her) but you’re trying to pick up on her cues- her body language, the way she tilts her head ever-so-slightly to the side whenever her interest is piqued, the hiss she makes when angry or annoyed, (which is at just the right, almost animalistic pitch to get a raise out of you every time) or even the faint but comforting brushing of her fingers against yours, like what she does as she readjusts her hand in your limp grip. You’re still learning, it’s only been a day or two ( _even though it seems much, much longer)_ since you met in that cabin, but you’ve gotten pretty confident in interpreting her little gestures. Now, though, it’s a bit more difficult.

The pout that crosses her face casts a stone into your stomach, if only for a brief moment, before she shakes her head dismissively. Squeezing your hand warmly, a small smile rises to her face. All is forgiven.

There’s a comfortable silence for a while, interrupted only by the _drip-dripping_ of the rain on the murky concrete slabs and the _pitter-patter_ of bare feet, before you hear something from your immediate right – something quick, loud and _close_. _Stupid._ You snap your head to the source of the noise, ready to run, but – nothing. Nothing except Six, who’s got her hands pressed to her face, the pouring rain sliding down her clothes, shivering. A sneeze?

It hits you. Of course! Your bag and coat give enough protection from the elements as not to be a big problem, aside from the air getting damp and clammy inside the mask and having it stick to your face, but Six has nothing to the same extent. You should’ve noticed hours ago that this would be a problem, given the City’s trend of near-constant rainfall. Should’ve looked around the school - hell, even taken something from the Hunter’s shack ( _not like he needs it now_ ), but you didn’t. One mistake after another.

You sigh. “Hey, Six.” She turns to look at you, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Ew, gross!” You laugh, as she huffs and puffs out her shoulders. “Uh, it’s raining a lot and you don’t look so good. Do you want-” you say, starting to shrug the coat off your shoulders.

Six shakes her head, sending crystal droplets scattering everywhere, but still more fall on her hair - and, you notice as she squeaks and paws at it, her face.

“Six, you’re freezing.” She vigorously shakes her head again, clearly opposed to the concept. You’re not sure whether it’s to wearing your coat specifically, or if she just doesn’t want it for whatever reason. You’re about to interject once again, when she points across the great chasm a little while away. Oh, maybe she just wants to keep moving? You look at her, _are you sure?_ hopefully visible even under your mask, and she seems to understand, nodding and quickly starting to walk towards the chasm. “Hey, wait for me!” You cry out as you move to follow.

Heights don’t really bother you ( _even though something in you nags that they should)_ so you’re unafraid to take a peek downwards as you cross the convenient beam across the gap. Arms spread wide, walking above an endless abyss - _oh, wow, this actually is pretty deep_ \- you feel like some hero in an old comic book, searching for treasure. You smirk, and look upwards; Six is just walking forwards, not a care in the world, so you can’t tell if she’s thinking the same, but at least she doesn’t seem to be afraid of falling. Hopefully that’s a good thing! Quick as you can go, you cross the beam and join Six on the slanted slabs. You take a look behind you at the crooked buildings, but as you look back, she’s gone, already jotting off down the street.

That’s fair. You’re thankful for your, albeit meagre, protection from the rain that only seems to fall heavier as you two make your way through the lifeless streets. Six must be feeling awful. Better hurry up. You continue down the street, rushing slightly to keep up with her. ( _boy, she can move fast)_

Another comfortable sort of silence fills the air between you, broken only by the incessant splashing of rain. You would try to strike up some sort of conversation, even if only to take your mind off whatever horrors you’ll likely encounter next, but Six isn’t really the conversational type at the best of times, so trying to talk about whatever lame topic crosses your mind doesn’t seem like a good idea when she’s soaking wet and miserable. Best to just find some reprieve from the rain, you realise, passing by dumpsters and briefly stopping to climb some ruined terrain. Sooner you both get warm and dry, (as much as you can in this deathtrap of a city) the better.

Eventually, you find it. Well, not exactly you; it’s Six that spies the ajar door at the end of the street, half-hidden by the rain that’s really starting to grate on your nerves at this point. You hadn’t even noticed it, walking aimlessly past trash can after puddle, until Six makes a sudden intake of breath and starts jogging towards it. Instinct sets in, and you’re ready to run in an instant, before you realise, shift your soggy bag and spot the door - with Six halfway there already.

Well, you’re not about to be left out in the cold while Six gets to dry off. ( _or gets caught by whatever’s inside, a paranoid part of you whispers)_ Breaking into a run from your poised stance, you follow her towards the door with an offended call of “Hey, wait for me!”. Your bag shifts back and forth, now thoroughly soaked and clinging to your face like a towel, partially blocking your view as your race towards her. You don’t take it off though, obviously; better half-blind than exposed to any wandering, hateful eyes, or the beguiling hum of a TV. The fact it hides your face _(awful, skinny, dirty, w r o n g)_ is arguably even more important.

Following her up the steps into the ramshackle building, you’re relieved to no longer have the rain cascading down your bag and coat. Whew. Taking a careful eye to the room you find yourself in, you identify many things of note; exposed boards, dusty chairs (nobody’s been here in a while) the beam of moonlight in the centre of the room illuminating - wait -

Six tentatively approaches the yellow _thing_ in the light. It takes your brain a few seconds to identify it; a raincoat, you think? Hey, that’s handy. You observe her from a close distance as she takes careful steps towards the coat, hovering over it. Her mouth is open. It’s mesmerising, even though it shouldn’t be. The intoxicating, acid yellow stands out amongst the muted greys and browns of the city you’re so accustomed to, and you’re finding yourself drawn to it. Six, too, if her immediate focus on it is any indicator. Something about the scene seems familiar, and yet, so _new_ and invigorating _._ You can’t find it in yourself to talk and spoil the moment, even if you wanted to - something holds you back, something confusing and tight in your chest.

Bending down to slowly slip the coat over her jumper, she emerges, a bright yellow butterfly in the pale moonlight. In that moment, you’re stunned beyond words.

It’s beautiful. _She’s_ beautiful. You’re transfixed.

Your mind wanders back to that silly butterfly thought from earlier; it’s insane, but it seems like she’s whole now - like there was something missing before, now filled by the smooth gold surface and cast shadow of her hood. It fits Six perfectly, like it was made for her. It’s hard to describe beyond that; heck, you’re having trouble thinking as it is. Tension lifts from her shoulders as she rises, and turns to you, smiling genuinely. Your heart skips a beat and you’re sure a blush is on your cheeks from the joy bursting from that smile. You wrench your jaw shut ( _how long has it been open?)_ and mentally shake yourself out of your trance.

“Y-you look amazing.” You stutter out. She giggles mutedly. Your mouth opens and closes uselessly. You look ridiculous, pull yourself together! You swallow, blinking, and she does a little twirl. Her hair is still drooping and wet, but the drops that soar into the air, catching rays of moonlight capture your attention nonetheless. Another quick twirl, a dip, and then a flourish of hands, as if showing off this new metamorphosis.

You give her a few small claps and she sinks into a deep bow, hand over heart. You snort, lips curved upwards. “Alright, anything else catch your eye, or should we keep moving?” Six ponders this, finger on her chin as her eyes scour the room from behind black curtains of hair and shadow. The difference between her now and before is staggering. She’s oozing with energy and life, a stark contrast to the usually calm and serious Six of a few hours ago. You could get used to this.

She turns back to you and shrugs. Nodding, you take one brief look behind at a door leading out of the room before a scampering of feet across damp stone makes you whip your head around, only to see - nothing. Where’d she go? It’s not like she’s especially difficult to see in that coat. ( _that could be a problem, actually, in the future)_

Looking around again, you find her inspecting your paper bag, discarded on a crate. “Hey, that’s mine!” You call out, laughing. The oppressive shame of having your face on display is, for whatever reason, dim and almost ignorable ( _almost_ ) right now - but, you’d still like it back. It’s your big gimmick. ( _besides something else you’d rather not think about, lest the droning static worms its way into your head_ ) You walk towards her in a mock huff, pawing at the bag as Six pulls it towards herself. Oh, it’s on! You swat at each other, smiles gleaming and giggling infectiously like the pair of troublemakers you are.

For this moment, all thoughts of what’s ahead cease - the beckoning of the looming Tower, the cacophony of static from TV’s barely within earshot a block or two away as they always are, the terror and danger that’s soon to envelop you both - all muffled by the light sound of children’s laughter, and the rustling of hands against fabric and plastic.

You know eventually you’ll have to face what’s out there. The corridor that calls to you when you shut your eyes, the humming and droning, half-remembered visions - a hat, flesh, hands, light, screaming, a haunting melody, agony, the whoosh of air around your ears, an empty hand - all these things and more haunt you whenever you listen too closely to the TV’s, or even just the ambient drone in the air. You put that aside, for now. Just now, in this tiny bubble of time, you two are safe, happy, and enjoying the most childish things in a city where such things are madness, as if fighting back against the nightmarish landscape itself.

Tired out and splayed on the floor, Six’s hand resting in your own, you close your eyes with a smile on your face. You can afford to put everything on hold and just - _listen_ \- for a while. To the soft rhythm of your heartbeats, to the whispering buzz of the TV’s, to the splashing of rain across stone and tile. To the sound of peace.

Six squeezes softly, and you squeeze back, a promise made.


End file.
